The Act
by IannaBray
Summary: A/H,A/U: What a tangled web we weave. Edward Cullen and Bella Swan are enraptured in their own worlds, when they meet and start to form a bond. Secrets are revealed that may destroy any ounce of security they feel and put walls up that were torn down.
1. Chapter 1: Running Revelry

**A/N: This was a story I came up with on the fly. I was iffy about posting it, but decided that if I had come up with an Edward and Bella story… finally, I was going to post it. :P**

The Edward in this is Katherine's, (joejonasplease, go read her stories right now, they're amazing; really, really fucking amazing. :P) and she's married to him secretly. Shhh, don't tell Bella. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, and this is my first Edward and Bella story in a long time/while, so bear with me while I flip flop on opinions about her, haha! :P

…__

Fuck… was really the only thing my brain could fathom at that moment. It was lost to the thrill; lost to everything but keeping my feet working, to keep them running or else I would be royally fucking screwed. Inhibitions were a thing of the past at that moment, and the unexpected joy that hit me was enough to make a smile crack slowly onto my face. It kind of hurt, only because I wasn't used to it, and that made the situation all the more enjoyable.

The sound of my steps satisfactorily pounding against the deep dirt, so far in front of those fuckers behind me, the adrenaline making my heart feel like it was about to jump out of my chest, and the breathing I kept sucking in, only to be let out in sporadic jolts of laughter here and there; it was fucking amazing, and I never wanted it to end.

It came to a climax when I thought I was caught. The footfalls behind me were nearing, and my brain thought quickly for a way out: _how familiar_, I mused internally. A line of sweat trickled down my left temple, cold and annoyingly pungent, and I didn't bother to flick it away as I made the snap decision to jump a silver chain-link fence and land in an awkward crouch on the other side: but fuck, at least I didn't break my ankle or some shit like that. What a pussy move that would be, huh? A great story to tell the folks.

'_So, uh… the reason my ankle is wrapped to its zenith in gauze and bandages is a funny story. I was running away from the cops, post-subsequently running away from home and had the smart-ass idea to hop a fence. Yeah, I thought I was hot shit until my ankle snapped and I fell screaming like a fucking infant._'

No. So, I was fucking glad I landed the way I did, but didn't dwell on the shit any longer or else I would have a cap served up my ass in no time. I knew how they worked, I knew that any chance they got to feel like they had balls and could put them to use, they would take. Holding a gun and shooting it at something, anything made them feel like macho men: I'm pretty certain they thought it scared me, but The YMCA always popped into my head in moments like those and my smug act would hold while I thought of all those tools fruity as fuck.

It was an act; even I could vouch to that. To anybody outside of my body, I was tough. I was raw and I was ready to fight whenever: but such was not the case. Everybody is hurt, in one way or another: I'm not going to lie and pretend I'm the only guy on earth who's hard as fucking stone, unbreakable. Like a fucking bulletproof vest in human form – nope, that's not how the world fucking turns, and Ill be honest about that. A lot of shit has happened that's made me vulnerable in a shit load of things, but my internal musings kept me from outwardly showing them. Fuck me if I knew how I really did it, but it worked and I wasn't going to mess with it.

I had been called an asshole too many times to count, and that was just today. I've tried before to make people see that I'm not… most of the time. All part of the fucking act, though. I was tired of it, to be honest: all of this fucking pretending and feeling things I'm not supposed to feel. I felt plastic, I felt fake and I felt like somebody else. Being cliché, it was no way to live your fucking life. Regret and fucking desire to be something other than I was stained everything I did, showed through my eyes when I looked in the mirror, and was in my stature as I walked around a casing of pseudo-being.

Pushing the everything I wished to be aside, I focused on the task at hand: staying covered and veiled. I inched around the edge of a half-built stone wall and tried to keep my feet on flat, even ground. My palms were flat against the dusty grey rock behind me, and I felt them being slowly calloused by the dips and bumps on the surface. Unexpectedly, a downhill slope appeared beneath my left foot, and the entire adjoining side slumped down as my right foot flew into the air with the force. My left shoulder slammed hard into the earth and I stopped a strangled cry of pain as I rolled onto my back and cupped it with my palm, feeling loose soil grasp onto the hair at the back of my head. My mouth opened in a contradiction – a silent scream shaped my mouth and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Something was definitely dislocated, and the story to take back to my parents was a step down from breaking my ankle, though equally as weak when the flashlights of the very same tools I never wanted to see in this kind of situation again came face-to-face with me writhing on the ground.

"Cullen," the satisfied voice let out, taking on the full-blown smugness I was so good at… when not in a situation where I felt like my left arm had been dipped in a vat of acid.

I sighed and nodded, licking my dry, chapped lips. "Yeah, I know. I'm fucked now, right?" I croaked, still grasping my shoulder.

The ass had the nerve to chuckle, too. Fucking douche bag. "Yeah. You're fucked. Get up," he said, motioning with his hands yet not using them to actually _help _me the fuck up. I was used to it, though. Officer Dwyer was a shit I had to deal with, and I would. I could, because I had to. I could stop having to deal with him, but that would involve actually taking the advice my counselor, commissioned by my big-shot of a fucking father, gave; and there was no way in heaven or hell I would do that.

…

I was back in hell. It was impossible to not feel your gag reflex shift when in this office, and I was no fucking exception to that particular rule. The motif was reminiscent of one of those uncomfortable showrooms: the ones that are only there for you to see what _possibly_, your space could look like, only if you paid a shit-load of unnecessary money to have it done. Esme had dragged me to enough of them in hopes of bonding with me a little better: the thought was there, but she had applied the shit to something completely non-relatable. She could take a lesson or two from the shrink her and Carlisle had me going to.

"Edward, she's ready for you now."

I cringed instantly. That sugary-sweet voice beckoned me with underlying venom only a person who was around it enough could detect. Ever since the first day I got to this office, saw Jessica and decided to flirt with her just enough to earn the privilege of blowing off sessions with no shit from her voice spamming my cell phones messaging system, she had been taking advantage of that one smile I threw her way. The way she said my name had me actually eagerly awaiting going inside the room with the continuing fake theme leading into it.


	2. Chapter 2: Counselling Commotion

**A/N: Id highly fucking recommend listening to Message From Your Heart by Kina Grannis during this chapter. I did, and it fits pretty fucking perfectly. You can find it at youtube dot com /user/ kinagrannis if you wanted it easily. :) **

I let my eyebrows shoot up high into my forehead as I flicked through the channels once more: how bored did you have to be to watch the fucking Power Rangers? I mean, that show was badass… back when it was cool. Now all the different fucking versions they came out with were enough to make your head spin; go back to the original fucking Power Rangers and stay there.

Pink and Green were always meant to be together, anyway, and where the fuck did they go with that? Nowhere.

I rolled my eyes as Power Rangers: Jungle Fury was announced next on the docket, and threw the remote on the couch beside me, running my hand over my forehead. I pulled my long brown hair into both of my hands and tied the hair band from around my wrist along the bunch of hair I had created. The sun was out for once, and I was fucking glad for it: summer in Forks, Washington usually meant dreary weather with the _occasional_ chance of sun. I looked down at my outfit and grimaced slightly, hating that I was too lazy at that moment to go get up and change into something that didn't make me feel like I was wrapped in motherfucking Salmon skin.

_There was never a fucking restaurant in the original Power Rangers. What the fuck?_

I furrowed my eyebrows and narrowed my eyes as I watched some lame guy with a mushroom head and a buggish-looking thing that talked like a chick with mono fighting like a couple of pussies. Oh, and next up was some blonde bitch dancing to lame music like a fucking mongoloid, Jock McGee cheering her on.

This was pissing me off. I sat forward abruptly after running my hands down my face and slapped them, palms outstretched, onto the thick denim of my jeans. I got up then, reluctantly climbing the stairs and making my way up them. In passing toward my room, I overheard my mother talking to someone on the phone.

"He _what_? _Again_? Get him to come in: this has got to stop. He can't keep living his life this way! It's unethical, Phil…"

Oh, she was talking to _Phil_! Officer Dwyer, the big man on campus. He was the newcomer to the police station, just in from Phoenix, Arizona, and his tan and brush-it-off attitude had gotten Char- I mean… my dad, on the edge of his seat, pussy-footing around the issues like he was stepping on hot fucking coals or some shit like that. Did I really care about the petty issues at Forks teeny-tiny toddler-minded headquarters? No, I really didn't. I was more concerned about… well, lets just say I was concerned about things that were much more important than my father being threatened by a man much younger than him.

I plastered my trade-mark smirk onto my face and breezed coolly past her door. Her speech momentarily stopped before starting full-force once more, but I didn't pay attention as I shut the door on her muffled conversation. I had noticed, over the past few months Phil Dwyer had graced our tiny town with his sun-kissed accent and care-free stature about him, my mother had been dropping lunch off at the station more often, the phone was occupied by her voice blabbering fucking constantly – and with one look at the call display, it was revealed to be the one and only fucking _Phil_.

I rummaged through my drawers and closet in search for sun-appropriate attire, and finally settled on a pair of denim shorts, a blue tank top and a white hoodie. Simplicity was key: no need to draw attention to myself, and the multitude of people wearing shorts today would make me exposing my unnaturally pale skin tone in a pair of shorts the norm.

Once I was more comfortable, securing my bracelet onto my wrist – did I ever leave home without it? No fucking way in hell – and turned around just as I heard the door creak open. (Call it reflex or force of habit, but a scowl painted my face immediately, and seeing my mother there with the phone in her hand only intensified it.)

"Bella?" she asked, even after seeing me already standing there.

I looked away: eye contact was the fucking limit. I refused it at all costs. "Yeah?" I responded softly, playing with the small wooden charm and gingerly fingering it.

"Could you come to work with me? I've got a patient I need to see – I'm sorry, I know I promised you that we would be going to Port Angeles today, but I just can't. I'm so, so sorry…" And the apologies just kept rolling in, even after I had walked by her with my head down and my eyes focused on my feet. I rolled the smirk back onto my face and turned around right at the top of the stairs, my right hand poised still on the banister.

"It's fine. Ill just sit around and wait for you to fucking shrink some fuck-up that can get the same help for free from Oprah, weekdays at 5. Got it," I winked, trotting carefully down the stairs, hearing very clearly the sigh that my mother expelled from behind me.

Renee Swan was never one for confrontation, and she wasn't about to start now.

…

I had never really paid any mind to how Renee's voice changed whilst talking to Phil, but sitting in that annoyingly leather chair in my mothers office as she blabbed about something to Officer Dwyer gave my free will to mentally access just how fucking sickeningly sweet her voice got. I mean, she might as well be having phone sex with the guy right in front of me: her speech said it all – _I haven't been fucked in years, please save me from martyr hell and fuck my brains out._

Jesus Christ. I rolled my eyes and kept my arms crossed tight against my chest. If I looked like a weepy, adolescent teenager I really didn't fucking care at that point; because overhearing your mother falling out of love with your father piece by piece - I thought at least - was enough to condone that.

"… Alright. I'll talk to you later, Phil." Renee just _oozed _sex appeal, didn't she? Not really, I was being completely fucking sarcastic there – but she tried, I could tell. Every time she would go to the station, one more item less of clothing would be removed, until finally, one day, she just showed up in a fucking mini skirt. I'm not even lying – I remember when she asked for it, too: and yes, it was from my closet. I was doing a clean-sweep after certain… incidents, and was throwing all the clothing that I didn't want in black plastic garbage bags. She had come by when I was in mid-stuff of a red mini skirt, and basically begged me to let her borrow it, _just this once. _Not like I needed any nudging, I was sick of all the fucking things that just reminded me of _him_, and giving the things that dredged up those old fucking memories was a welcome occurrence.

"Bella. You can leave now, if you'd like. I have a patient next, so you can… head down to Port Angeles by yourself," she smiled, sliding down from her perch on the top of her desk - her tone of voice indicated that she thought she was doing me some kind of fucking _favor_, but she didn't even know. Port Angeles was the last place I wanted to go alone, especially knowing that the possibility of him being there was exceptionally large. She started shuffling and fixing up papers, tidying her desk like she wished she were tidying up her life.

"Right, so… when you're done with my temporary services, you're just going to cast me off, huh? That sounds fucking familiar," I scoffed, getting up and making my way to the door. Before I could get there, though, Renee's slightly wrinkled hand reached out and grasped with a surprisingly cool, firm grip on my wrist. I turned around incredulously to look at her.

"What are you talking about, Bella?" she asked, using that fucking therapist tone of voice on me. It was soft, but with an edge, and I was sick hearing it fucking _constantly_.

"Would you stop fucking _shrinking _me? You know full fucking well what I mean, that's why you think you can get off with talking to me like I'm one of your fuck-ups you can sponge money off of. I'm not, I'm your daughter, Renee," I seethed, taking my wrist out of her grasp.

"Bella, you're being fucking _ridiculous_. Stop acting like a child," she barked, grasping my forearm in her hand and tugging a little bit. It actually fucking hurt and that pissed me off even further. I was at my limit, at my zenith – I was so fucking _done_.

"Jesus, would you shut the fuck up and take a fucking valium, already? You dole it out enough to your patients, I'm sure nobody will have a problem with it. "

My smirk was full-blown and in place, and the momentary thrill I got from seeing Renee so choked up about my very abrupt change in mood was quickly overshadowed by how much of a fake I felt doing this. Did I feel bad? No, not at all – it was the fact that I never usually did this if I didn't have to. When a situation was getting too serious, a little too close for comfort, Id stop it in its tracks fucking _immediately_, and in order to do that, I had to act like this.

"Isabella, I'll have you know that I have no idea why you're being like this, and the accusation of you thinking otherwise is absolutely ludicrous - "

"Stop!" I said, holding a hand up and closing my eyes momentarily. "Here, Ill lay this shit out for you – when Phil came along, the entire dynamic of your and Charl - … I mean, dads relationship changed. I saw it, he saw it, and we _still _see it. You fucking used him, threw him away when the next best thing came along, and subsequently used me, as well. You make me fucking sick with all of your fake, lying _bullshit_, and the acts you put up…"

I was a walking contradiction; I knew that – I was half talking about myself, half talking about Renee.

As I went on, I could see something change in my mother's face. Something that automatically switched this situation from being different from others because I was her daughter, to me being just another person Renee Swan had met. I was no longer Isabella Swan, her daughter: I was Bella, the girl who just pushed all the wrong buttons.

I knew immediately when she cut me off with a bang. Literally; her hand launched forward, her entire body being thrown with the force of it, and slapped me hard across the cheek. My left cheek throbbed, and my gasp of hurt and surprise was only slightly drowned out by the horrified sound coming from the door to the left of me. I snapped my head to the source of the sound, only to have my eyes held hostage by quite possibly the most beautiful fucking thing I had seen yet; his eyes, so fucking green that I almost felt the need to clutch my stomach from the force of them, widened, making his long, dark lashes and perfectly proportioned forehead stand out: a little crease forming between his eyebrows.

I froze, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Renee freeze as well. For a minute, we all just fucking stood there like we were super-glued to our spots: until, suddenly, that beautiful boy with the fucking green eyes stepped forward and walked across the room to me, grabbing my wrist and looking into my eyes.


End file.
